All The President's Men
by Regis
Summary: While Cloud and AVALANCHE mess about trying to save the world, Midgar continues much as it ever has. And while heroes may believe themselves to always be in the right, Shinra are not quite as unpopular as they would have you believe...


All The President's Men  
  
It was night-time in the Shinra Inc. building and everybody who had a choice about it was asleep. The Secretaries had packed up their Mako Makeup kits and tottered off on their high heels. The Cleaners had carefully locked up their Mako Mops and retired to their sleeping bags in the basement. The President had long since hung up his duster coat after a long day of brutal negotiation and violent dispute with Union Leaders, and taken to his epic four-poster. The Union Leaders themselves had been put into bags and quietly dumped somewhere inconspicuous.  
  
In fact, it could be said that the Shinra building was officially lifeless. Nobody stirred within, except when a cleaner rolled over in his sleep. But outside the building was different. For here sat the night watchmen, trying to stay warm in the freezing nights of Midgar. It was a good life, being a Shinra security guard. Most people agreed it. You were the hand of Shinra. You got a nice uniform, good pay, your families were subsidised, and the eating houses were always willing to give out a free meal to the brave boys who brought law and order to the lawless slums. Yes, it was a good life. And the group of men warming their hands on a Mako Brazier would have probably agreed.  
  
"You can say what you like about the new boss," one of the guards said airily, "but the old President Shinra, now he was a gentleman. He knew his place. He wasn't." The guard, whose name was Eric, paused to take a drag on his Mako Extra Smooth Cigarette before continuing. "He wasn't like us. None of the execs are, really."  
  
"Yeah," concurred his friend, whose name was Dixon. "I mean, the old President, he was a cut above the rest, wasn't he? More Mako in him than any of us and he never pretended otherwise. Not like 'Call-me-Rufus' here."  
  
Marcus, the Chief Watchman for the night, snorted. "Don't let him hear you say anything like that. D'you know what happened to the last guard who called him Rufus?" There was a general shaking of heads. "Well neither do I. Nor does anyone. 'Cause he was never seen again!"  
  
"Yeah, well if for one don't mind a boss who doesn't mind getting his hands dirty," opined Miles, official spokesman for the voice of reason. " 'Cause if there was any trouble when the old President was around the he was just, 'Oh, get the guards to sort it out'. You remember, we even had to escort him to his car if there was a mob. But Rufus now - thanks," he broke off, gratefully accepting the cigarette, "he mucks in with the rest of us! He actually fights and that's more than any of the others have ever done for us."  
  
"He saw off those jokers from AVALANCHE pretty good," Marcus chipped in. "Word on the grapevine is it was them that did in the old President. Wouldn't put it past 'em either. After they took out that Mako Reactor it was just one thing after another, worse and worse."  
  
"Should've sent in SOLDIER after 'em then, shouldn't he?" observed Eric to general assent.  
  
"I always fancied being in SOLDIER," Dixon observed, accepting the cigarette and inhaling deeply.  
  
"Is that why you joined the Security Corps?"  
  
"Aye," came the reply. "Well, it's the best route, isn't it?" Dixon continued. "Get in the front line, show them your stuff, give it a few years and then - hello SOLDIER!"  
  
"They say most SOLDIER members came from Security," said Miles. "Mind you, you'd have to be good to get into SOLDIER. There's about a hundred SOLDIER members and a couple of thousand Guards like us. I don't reckon any of us Night Watchmen are going to be in with the skills to get in with them boys."  
  
"It's not the skills though, is it!" Dixon replied, leaning forward enthusiastically. "They teach you the skills, that's why you have to spend so much time being fed Mako and given good lodgings and weapons and stuff, you've just gotta have the potential, then they recruit you."  
  
"And you think you've got the potential?" enquired Eric, grinning slightly.  
  
"It's not as daft as it sounds," Marcus reproved him. "Do you know what it takes to get into SOLDIER? No, you don't. We just tries as hard as we can and hopes for the best."  
  
"Aye, well," Miles leaned back against the Makocrete wall of the Shinra Inc. building, "I've never fancied SOLDIER myself. I just joined up 'cause it was a guaranteed job. No qualifications needed, and they're always looking for more guards. Dead cert., set for life, nice pension when you retire, plus it sets your family up as well."  
  
"They're good like that, are Shinra," Eric said. "I talked to me granddad the other day, he was there when we had the first President, Dawson Shinra. There were chaos before that, he told me. Unemployment - can you believe it?" The other guards shook their heads in disbelief. People out of work? It was unthinkable. "Hardly any money around," Eric continued, "then Shinra sets up and suddenly everybody's got a job and everybody's got a house and living in a slum ain't so bad no more."  
  
"I wonder what Dawson was like," Dixon mused.  
  
"Not for us to wonder," Marcus stated firmly. "We serve Rufus now, nobody else."  
  
"Damn right," was the general consensus. Defenders of corporate freedom all. That was the raison d'être of the Security Corps.  
  
"If the President needs us," Miles said, "we'll be there. No question. For the glory of Shinra, Inc." He paused, lost in dewy-eyed corporate patriotism. "For the freedom of trade. It's what it's all for, in the end." 


End file.
